Before Rosalie
by ElizabethI
Summary: At one of Rosalie and Emmett's wedding s , a girl who loved Emmett very much while he was human appears...with someone very unexpected.
1. Chapter 1

I DO NOT OWN TWILIGHT OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS! THEY BELONG TO STEPHENIE MEYER! But Emmett's "gal" and her family are my inventions.

Emmett, 1950

I watched from the doorway as Esme brushed out Rosalie's golden curls and then tied them up high with a silken ribbon. Alice, so new to our family yet already such a common part I couldn't imagine not knowing her and Jasper, was pulling out wrinkles in the white satin with swift fingers. She draped and redraped the lacy veil about Rosalie's shoulders, and then set to rearranging the white roses in Rosalie's bouquet, though they looked perfect already to me…which meant more now that I was a vampire than it would have when I was human.

Rosalie was examining herself in a mirror (not an uncommon practice for her) when she glimpsed me. She fought back her smile, and then turned to glare at me, interrupting Esme, who was busy settling the coronet of white roses over Rosalie's veil.

"It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding," she scolded, voice icy, but golden eyes smoldering into mine. I just wanted to take her into my arms, kiss her, hold her…but Alice was laughing. She had seen what I was about to do. "You don't want to do that yet," she said lightly, eyes dancing to Esme's. Esme only shook her head, still trying to fix Rosalie's veil.

"I do, actually," I said, with a good-humored laugh. Alice rolled her eyes. Rosalie grinned briefly before returning to looking stern.

Then I answered Rosalie. "Perhaps it is bad luck," I said, taking in all of Rosalie several times over, "but what is it everyone says? You must make your own luck?"

She glared, and quick as a flash the door was shut in my face. I chuckled to myself; she could be so difficult.

Glancing into the sanctuary, I saw all the pews were filled. People didn't come so much for Rosalie and me as they did for Carlisle, the miracle doctor. Everyone was in their best. Near the back a pretty woman in her early thirties comforted a crying toddler. I couldn't tell if she was beautiful; my thoughts of beautiful could only consist of snow white skin, wide eyes that changed from gold to black and back again, golden curls that looked like the finest sunshine....The woman sat next to a gray haired man, although he didn't look that much older than her. I didn't know why I noticed her; I normally paid little to no attention to humans if they didn't smell…mouthwatering.

Vicious, I know, and if it were Edward who had these thoughts he would hate himself for a long time; it was the same way with Esme. Not that Esme had killed more than ten or twenty humans in her life. . . .And, of all of us (besides Carlisle, because he's never killed anyone), she feels the most guilt over human lives she's taken. But that was just Esme. And Edward could hear his victims' frightened thoughts, so naturally he felt monstrous.

I knew Jasper only cared about humans if he could see himself going over to them, putting his mouth to their skin, as if to kiss, but actually to bite…so I wasn't the only one. Rosalie, of course, never drank from humans; she clung far too tightly to her own humanity for that. Alice was remarkably good at abstaining, but then, she could see the impact killing that one person would have. So I didn't feel like a brute…or a monster, as Edward frequently called us.

It still didn't explain why I felt so drawn to the woman with the round green eyes and the glossy brown curls. Something flashed through my mind momentarily; those wide eyes were gleaming from a young face; slender, soft arms were twined about my neck….

The woman was staring at me, eyes shocked, disbelieving, and yet hopeful at the same time. "Emmett?" She whispered. "Emmett McCarty?"


	2. Chapter 2

Rosalie, 1950

Finally. It was time. As I prepared to go through the double doors leading to the sanctuary, I sensed something was amiss. Where was the organ? Kate's fingers should already be weaving across the keys in harmony with Irina's harp, a skill she'd picked up nearly eight hundred years ago. Why weren't Carmen and Eleazer accompanying them with their beautiful voices, spinning a wordless, beautiful accompaniment? Why weren't my flower girls moving? Tanya, Esme, and Alice, my bridesmaids, stood motionless, glancing back at me. Carlisle was suddenly at my side, his lips moving so swiftly no human could understand.

"Emmett isn't out there. He's frantic about a woman in the audience recognizing him."

I didn't like how Carlisle seemed almost afraid to mention it to me. "Who is it, Carlisle?"

Carlisle said coolly, "Rosalie, that is of no importance. Right now I need you to come convince Emmett to come out of his dressing room."

"Who is it?" I could feel the sharpness of my voice. Carlisle looked into my eyes, and suddenly Esme was at his side, holding his hand, but speaking gently to me.

"Rosalie, please, don't make a bigger fuss about it than has already been made. Just go talk to Emmett."

Esme's eyes were pleading, and of course I hated upsetting her, my loving mother, but it was _my _day…no trite human was going to ruin it for me! I would know her identity, so I could throw her out myself if necessary. How dare she interfere!

"Who is it?" I repeated. I was no longer asking to know; I was demanding.

Carlisle sighed, resigned. Alice's eyes were wide and unseeing; she was having a vision. With a swift glance at her, he placed a steadying hand on my arm. Or a restraining hand, I wasn't sure which.

"Rachel."

Rachel, New Year's Day, 1935

I leaned up on my toes to meet Emmett's kiss. He pulled me closer, and I sighed slightly. I was so happy whenever I was with him; even if I could only see him my world seemed to brighten and nothing mattered so much as looking at his amazing face, the face of the man I would do anything for.

"Happy sixteenth," he whispered into my ear, and I shivered as his breath tickled the hairs on my neck. And he pulled out a ring.

I gasped. We were in the backwoods of Tennessee; how could he have afforded, or found, a diamond ring?

He chuckled gently at my stare, and slipped it on my finger. "But…Emmett…" I could only gasp. I felt rather faint, but I had to keep myself upright. I didn't want him to see me as weak or helpless. "Say yes, Rachel," he said, eyes gazing into mine.

I twisted out of his grasp and smoothed my hair. Looking up at him through my lashes I asked, sounding playful but being really quite serious, "Why do you want silly, young little me to marry you? You're nineteen, handsome, and strong. And you have the most spectacular personality. Why would you choose me?"

His laugh soothed me. Even as I stayed away from his still outstretched arms I longed to fall into them. I had to hear what I wanted to hear first.

"Rachel," he sighed, exasperated, "because I love you. Because you're my gal."

My face lit up at the old nickname. I knew it did, because his face, which had been nervous at first, became good-humored and confident once more.

"Yes!" I cried. I leapt into his arms and he twirled me about in the moonlight, the tips of my toes skimming the dewy grass. I kissed him, and then, hands twined tightly together, we went back to the party. I couldn't wait to tell Sally.


	3. Chapter 3

Emmett, 1950

I kept my face in my hands. Rosalie would be so disappointed…but that woman knew, she knew who I was! But not just any woman…Rachel. I could barely remember her, but Carlisle assured me I was once engaged to her. I pitied her. She had believed I loved her, because then I didn't know Rosalie.

Even the thought of Rosalie not being in my life was excruciatingly painful. I was glad such a time had existed only in my human years, years I remembered only dimly, as if looking through a smudged glass.

Suddenly she was there, before my eyes. My wife, my soul mate, the woman I still believed to be my angel. But she didn't look sad; she looked mad. And as she stood there glaring at me, I chuckled. She was mad because some human was holding off _her _wedding. "Emmett," she said, lovely voice echoing through the room, "why does this woman matter?"

"She knows me, Rosalie, she knows who I am! She could ruin us!"

"She doesn't know you," Rosalie snapped, "she's just some poor woman hallucinating about a long lost fiancé. Everyone will believe that. She probably doesn't even believe herself."

I looked at Rosalie for a long moment, and then found myself saying, "You don't know Rachel. When someone disagrees with her, she argues until she wins. My gal could stand against a tornado."

Rosalie's face contorted, and she whispered harshly, "Do you know Rachel so well? Is your gal a match for your _wife_?"

I reeled at the impact of her words, but I was dizzied by what I had just said. Had I really just called Rachel my gal? Had I really gone against Rosalie about it? My Rosalie, my love?

I reached for her, but she sprang away in less than a second, her skirts settling gracefully about her.

"Rose," I murmured, gently, persuasively, "Rose, I love _you_. Only you." As I spoke, I felt something I hadn't felt for many, many years. Fear. Rosalie couldn't leave me. I would do anything for her.

As Rosalie snarled slightly at me, a thought rose up in the back of my mind. If Rachel caused me to lose my darling, I would kill her.

Rachel, 1935

"Lord would you look at that rock on this girl's finger?" Aunt Abigail cried. All my family was down for the wedding celebrations. I couldn't believe in less than a week I would be married to my Emmett. I would be Mrs. Emmett McCarty. Rachel Louise Jenkinson McCarty.

My wedding dress had been my mother's. It had to be altered to fit me, because I was far shorter than my mother, and far slimmer.

"Has he got your house fixed up yet?" My cousin Edith wanted to know. Edith was engaged to a man back in North Carolina and seemed determined to prove her man was better than mine. But when she had seen Emmett her mouth dropped. From what her brother had said, her fiancé was some skinny banker about fifty years old who was the richest person around those parts.

"Oh yes!" my mother answered for me, "about three miles out from here, this lovely little cabin by a meadow filled with wildflowers. It's just gorgeous!"

All day long my kinsfolk interrogated me and my family about it. My best friend, Sally, was sweet on my cousin Ben, so she was no comfort at all, for she was always off with him, kissing and doing goodness knows what else.

Finally it was suppertime. Nobody would let me help cook, because my wedding was coming up, and as my mother said, "With a man who eats as much as Emmett you'll be cooking from sunup until sundown after you get married."

I saw Mr. McCarty coming up the road. I loved my father-in-law because he so resembled my Emmett. I ran to meet him.

"Hello!" I called, grinning. Mr. McCarty smiled at me sadly, and walked with me to the porch. "Where are your folks?" he asked seriously. My smile faded slightly, and I gestured to the kitchen. "Everyone's in there cooking, sir."

"Please get them, Rachel," he sighed, and sat in a chair on the porch. I ran to fetch my parents, and of course everyone followed.

"Rachel," he said, tears in his eyes, "I have some horrible news for you." Fear clutched my heart, and every part of me trembled. My brain scrambled for explanations that completely left my beloved out of this "horrible news".

"Emmett was out hunting, and when he didn't come back, the boys and I went looking for him. We found…large pools of blood…and bear tracks. There's just no way he could have…survived."

Every part of me went numb, every nerve in my body was filled to the brim with pain, but it didn't hurt. Not then. Because what he was saying wasn't true. Emmett wasn't dead; it was some nightmare, some terrible dream.

I felt hands on my shoulders, hands smoothing my hair; I felt my mother hugging me while Sally held my hands, sobbing, and I gasped as the pain registered. Tears leaked out, and a ragged scream tore through the air that reeked of heartbreak. I realized it was mine. I leaned into my mother's shoulder, sobbing as the will to live left me. The pain was too much for me, for one person, and it overflowed to burn everyone around me, like a pool of acid.

My Emmett was dead, and I just wanted to lay down in the pool and die.

Mr. McCarty, 1935

Poor girl. Her pain is greater than mine. It is even greater than my wife's. Rachel has not left her bed for nearly two months. The only thing she says is my son's name. She hovers near death, refuses to eat or drink. Her mother has to force it down her throat. Never have I seen such grief. It is so profound…but my son adored her, and she him. I never saw anything as poignant as the love those two had for each other. Her cousin just got engaged to Sally Smith. I know that cannot help her, to see two people in love and getting married. I can only pray that we can all make it through our grief without guilt.

Rachel, 1940

I say my vows. I kiss him. I betray my broken, bruised heart to save what is left of my true love.

Rachel, 1950

It is him. I swear it on everything I love. I swear it on his life, the most precious thing to me. And he is about to marry another, a beautiful blonde, so beautiful it hurts to look at her. My eldest child, Joan, looks at him and says, "Mother, he's so handsome. Aren't they just the loveliest couple?" I laugh harshly and say, "Yes, Joan. They are." She looks worried, but she will survive. She is nearly fifteen after all.

"Sweetheart, I didn't know you knew the couple! When I said Carlisle's son was getting married, you didn't give any sign of acknowledgement."

I want to scream at my husband it is because that name means nothing to me…the only name that will _ever _mean anything to me is Emmett McCarty.


	4. Chapter 4

Rachel, 1950

I can't take it anymore. Giving my husband the excuse of needing the bathroom, I leave the pew, towing Joan by the hand. She has a right to be with me when I do this.

I follow the directions of bewildered ushers. Bewildered because I am looking for the groom right before his wedding, bewildered because of the look on my face. Joan is looking rather nervous herself…she has never seen me as anything but calm and docile. She has only ever seen the façade I have used since I married, the façade I used so she could live in comfort and be fed. She will never realize what I've done for her, she whom I love more than everyone in the world, whom I love equally to Emmett. None of my other children can compare; it is only for Joan, my first child, my Emmett's child, that I would continue to live without him.

I storm into the room, and there is my Emmett sitting on a chair, head in hands, skin white as snow, no longer the rugged skin of a man living in the mountains of Tennessee. He must have been living softly all this time, to be so pale. For a moment, I question myself. Emmett loved the outdoors; he could never stay away from the sun long enough to be so pale.

Yet his muscles still pull at his skin, and his face is the same. It is, indeed, my Emmett.

He looks miserable, pained. Agonized, even.

I long to comfort him, but I am too angry to do that. Joan hangs back in the doorway, embarrassed. Then I notice her.

It is a sign of how completely Emmett controls me, a sign of how completely he takes over my mind, that I didn't immediately notice the magnificent woman in the wedding gown in the corner. I notice her now. Joan has been staring at her, openmouthed, from her position in the doorway.

Her skin is also white, as white as his. It and the gown are the same color. The silky skirts are draped with impossible elegance, and her lacy veil falls back over her perfect golden curls. Her lovely golden eyes are framed by long lashes. It isn't fair for any woman to be so beautiful. She is so beautiful she can't be real; she is ethereal, magical. I am so very envious; she is unbelievably gorgeous, and she is marrying my Emmett.

"Emmett," I whisper. He looks up at me then, horror in his eyes. These eyes puzzle me; they are a warm golden, instead of the deep brown I knew. This saddens me; while he is still beautiful, more beautiful than when I last saw him, I miss his brown eyes. These golden eyes…I don't know them. I reach out a hand to touch his cheek, to see if he is real, to make certain I really am seeing him now, after fifteen years. . . .

And then his bride, Rosalie, is shoving her lovely face into mine. Her face, though livid, is still as beautiful as an angel's. Her voice, though a hiss, is surely still more musical than a chorus of heavenly host. Even I, I who cannot help but despise this young, beautiful, vivacious woman, can understand why Emmett loves her.

"Leave! You are not welcome here; go!" She is angry. She knows who I am.

"I will not go," I say calmly, even though inside I am terrified. For a reason unbeknownst to me, this woman, in her anger, scares me nearly witless. But Emmett is at stake here; I will be brave.

Nothing can be more terrifying than life without him, and I have already been surviving that. I have been brave for him, for his child, for fifteen years. What is this beauty's rage compared to losing Emmett?

Nothing.

Her eyes widen in disbelief at my answer, then narrow in absolute fury. In rage her hand flashes out swiftly, so swiftly I can't see it until it is an inch from my cheek. "Rose," Emmett warns.

She growls, an inhuman sound, this unbelievable bride of my Emmett. Her hand flicks out to grab my arm, and it is like ice. With a push that appears to be effortless, she sends me backwards, into Joan's arms. Joan and I both tumble into the doorframe. And I a hardened girl of Tennessee.

"What do you want here?" Emmett moans in pain, and my eyes and Rosalie's go to the same place at once: Emmett's face.

I answer his question in a clear voice. "I came here because I love you. And because there is someone you should meet."

He looks at Joan despondently. He does not know who she is. He does not care. "This is Joan," I say, "my daughter. And yours."

Rosalie, 1950

I should have known the moment I laid eyes on the girl. She has her mother's eyes, true, but her hair is all Emmett's. Emmett is rising up, slowly, and reaches out a tentative hand towards the one thing I can never, ever give him. I know he could never love a child as he does me, and I know that he never wishes for one. We are complete together; we are whole.

But she is a pretty girl, and he seems fascinated and staggered. Emmett is a father.

Crippling pain hits me then. For though I know he loves me infinitely more than these two humans before me combined, as I see him next to both of them, fingers gently on his daughter's cheek, I see them in my head as a family. If Emmett hadn't been attacked by the bear.

And though when I found him, and I saw that bear about to kill him, I was filled with rage, and ripped the bear to shreds, I was able to appreciate what the bear had done for me. I knew Emmett was the one for me, and the bear had given him to me.

And as I bless the bear, I curse the mother and daughter to Hell. Damn them! Ruining my happiness. Ruining my Emmett's happiness.

I cannot see I am so angry. But despite my blindness I make my way to them and wrench Emmett away. I send the mother staggering into a doorway. For a moment I fear I have betrayed us for what we are by using such strength. But no, she is merely staggered. She has a look in her eyes I know very well. I see such a look often in my mirror.

If it is a fight she wants, it is a fight she will get.

Rachel, 1950

So she can push me into a door frame. That does not mean she can beat me in a tussle. I have older brothers and cousins; I have fought against people far stronger than this delicate creature from God knows where.

Unladylike…but still. Emmett surprised me by drawing Joan to him, as if he feared what would happen. Well, actually he just pulled her behind his chair, then dropped her wrist as if burned. He made a move as if to pull Rosalie back, but she hissed at him without taking her eyes from my face, "Leave me, Emmett. I will take care of her."

That unexplainable fear shivered up my spine once more.


	5. Chapter 5

Emmett, 1950

Rosalie crouches, ready to spring. I want to dash in front of Rachel, not for Rachel's sake, but for my family's; for Carlisle, Esme, Edward, Jasper, and Alice. For Rosalie's. But I do not. Instead I stand in front of the girl, Joan, _my daughter._ The thought is so foreign to me. I do not want her to be harmed…her soft features, her gentle demeanor, they remind me of a distant person, a woman. _My mother, _I marvel. But I shake my head. Esme is my mother now. Yet Joan also reminds me of Esme. And as memories of my real mother flood me, I realize she and Esme are not so very different.

I curse quietly. These two are bringing everything human back. Everything imperfect. Everything before Rosalie.

Rachel, 1950

A tiny woman darts into the room, and tows Rosalie back, in a corner, where I cannot hear. But the small one is furious. She glances back at me, and she, too, is stunningly beautiful, in a pale pink dress that floats about her small frame. Her hair is oddly short, her head wreathed by roses. She must be a dancer, and I wonder if I have heard of her…surely I must have, for she moves so gracefully. "Alice," Emmett breathes, relieved.

Rosalie, 1950

"What did you see, Alice?" I whisper, though I can imagine. It would be interesting to know how far I would go…will go. "I saw you ruining everything for us!" she hissed, angry. I hadn't seen Alice so angry before; but then, I hadn't known her very long. I smiled, though it had no warmth, and I said, "The future is not going to change, Alice. Not this time. I am going to rip that insignificant human to shreds."

Alice is sad. "Can't you see, Rosalie?"

I am frustrated by her cryptic remark. "See what?" I snap.

"He loves her. Emmett. Emmett loves Rachel."

"No," I hiss.

She nods slowly, but then soothes, "Not like he loves you, Rose. Never like he loves you. But he still loves her. And while he would do anything for you, while he loves you to the end of the world and beyond, he loves Rachel a little bit too. When he was human, what they had, it's like what you and Emmett have now. As long as you are alive he will be happy, content, but if you kill her…well, it would make him sad. For a time, at least."

I hiss, but straighten up. "Leave," I say to Rachel and her daughter, "Go, take your family and go."

And so they do, with much hesitation on Rachel's side. She throws one last desperate glance at Emmett as she walks away.

Alice steals away silently. Jasper waits outside the door, and they clasp hands. Emmett gazes at me so lovingly there is no way I can't forgive him. I go to his arms and sigh.

Rachel, 1950

There is a great, gaping hole where my heart used to be. I can hear Joan worrying about me, but I cannot soothe her. Her eyes are still shocked. I turn around, for a last glimpse of my Emmett, and when I see him holding her as he held me fifteen years ago, it decides my fate.

Rosalie, 1950

As I walk up the aisle, I notice that Rachel is not with her family. Her daughter, _Emmett's daughter, _is there, holding a little boy on her lap. Next to the edge of the pew is another little boy, about seven, I suppose. And then a little girl of about nine or ten sits between a gray haired man and the other girl. Joan.

After we say our vows, we go outside, and he twirls me about, my wedding shoes falling off, my toes skimming the dewy grass. And as we kiss, all I can think is: _Never has anyone been happier. Never has anyone been so in love as to deny their thirst as I did to save their love. Never has any love story been like mine and my Emmett's. Never will any love story be like it._

Alice skips up to my side, looking lovely in her pale pink bridesmaid's gown. Her shorn hair has pink roses crowning it, and she looks like a fairy queen. Jasper is next to Edward, and both of my brothers look handsome in their tuxedos. Carlisle and Esme are leaning against each other, happy for me and Emmett, happy that everything turned out fine. They do look like angels, and I remember what Emmett told me, how he thought Carlisle was God. I smile to myself as I look at the family I love. We are perfect, now that Alice and Jasper are here. We are complete.

But Alice is whispering to me, "-must go, before it happens."

"What?" I ask, dazed. She glares at me before saying, "Rosalie, you need to leave!"

"Why?"

And she tells me. I grab Emmett's arm and pull him into the turquoise 1950 Chevrolet two-door Coupe he got me as a wedding present. And we speed away. But because I am listening for it, I hear the scream far behind us.


	6. Chapter 6

Joan, 1980

My mother disappeared the day of my father's wedding. She left a note, and all it said was this:

"To my children: Joan, Agnes, Ben, and James, I am very sorry. I love you. To my husband: I am sorry I was never a good wife to you…but I never loved you as I loved him. Forgive me for leaving you like this."

I know she killed herself. We never found a body, and she never said she was taking her life, just that she was leaving, but I know she killed herself. Because if I know anyone, I know my mother, and that is what she would do. What she did.

I used to get a few letters a year from my father. But then his wife…what was her name? Oh, yes, Rosalie, wrote me last year to tell me he died of cancer. He was only sixty-four, and it made me sad that he had never mentioned it to me. I was saddened, for I had been planning a visit for me to take my own children, Ben (named for my brother who died in '68) and Rachel (named for her grandmother), to see their grandfather.

When I was in Canada on a business trip this year, I saw people who looked so like my father and Rosalie I couldn't believe it! But then they were gone, and I scolded myself for being so ridiculous.

For some reason I never told my stepfather or siblings about Emmett. It didn't seem fair to my stepfather, but I also wanted to protect Emmett's privacy. I don't know why, it's just a silly notion I've always had. It's not like he and Rosalie ever had anything to hide!

Emmett, 2000

I received a letter today, forwarded to me from the address I took so I could communicate with my daughter. Rachel Nicole, my granddaughter, wrote and said,

"Dear Grandfather Emmett,

I know you've been dead for a long time, but my mother asked me to do this, and I will. For her. Gosh I feel idiotic. But who will read this? Anyway, my mother died yesterday, June 11, 2000. And she wanted me to tell you that she's known since she met you…since the day Grandmother Rachel killed herself, that there's something special about you but she never, ever told anyone. And that you sure are one son of a gun, hiding that. I know that's really weird, but all of this is weird…I'm writing a note to a dead man saying how weird my mom is. OK. That's all. -----Rachel Nicole"

So my daughter is dead. Rosalie, though she tries to hide it, is ecstatic. My last tie to the human world is gone. But the last part of the note stuns me. Rachel killed herself that day? And Joan knew…she didn't know what she knew, but she knew she knew something. And I find myself chuckling at my daughter's audacity, and smiling proudly at her intelligence. I may not have been a father to her as I would have been had I been human, but she was still mine; half of that intelligence and audacity was mine.

But half was certainly my Rachel's. I felt it safe to call her mine. I loved her, though Rosalie will never understand how I can love both of them at the same time. And for a moment I think of how life would have been, if the bear hadn't attacked. I would probably be dead by now. And then Rosalie is before me, smiling. She loves me, as much as I love her. We would do anything for each other. And I destroy that previous thought, because it is hell to imagine my life without her. Into a dark recess of my mind I shove my most bittersweet memories: the memories of life before Rosalie.


End file.
